You can rest easy, Cracked Fans. Bruce Ivins, the man who allegedly tried to destroy Cracked has committed suicide. How did he try to destroy Cracked? Terrific question, Daniel. I’ll elaborate.
Some of you may remember the series of anthrax attacks in the Spring and Summer of 2001, (what was up with that?). While it was first suspected to be the work of terrorists, suspicions later turned to American scientists who worked exclusively with anthrax. All available evidence pointed to Ivins as the lead suspect and, when he realized that the government wanted to “talk” to him, he took the shit out of his own life.
Since the I’ll-kill-myself-to-prove-how-not-guilty-I-am defense strategy is actually quite damning in a court of law, it is believed with almost absolute certainty that Ivins was the man who attempted to cripple this great nation by mailing anthrax to the Big Three of the American Economy, (Big Three includes the Government, the Media, and Cracked Magazine). That’s right, the targets of the 2001 anthrax attacks included South Dakotan Senator Tom Daschle, news correspondent Tom Brokaw, and American Media Inc., publishers of the now defunct Cracked Magazine, (and various other publications of less importance). According to words I read from former Cracked Editor Mort Todd in the Comics Journal, due to contamination, all of the film used to print the beautiful Cracked magazine from 1958 to 2000 had to be destroyed. That’s right. We lost all of the original Cracked prints because some asshole went a little nutty with the anthrax. (It’s also suspected that people were so scared of the anthrax attacks that they almost unanimously refused to buy our magazine during its latest relaunch, causing its epic failure after just three issues.)
“I never had a chance.”
Now, Cracked might seem like kind of an unlikely target. When you’re attacking Tom’s of both the Brokaw and Daschle variety, why set your sights on Cracked and not, say, Tom Arnold or Selleck?
Well…I may have the answer to that. Yes, for anyone who’s ever wondered why the seemingly inconsequential Cracked joined an exclusive list of high profile targets some seven years ago, wonder no more. I have a little story for you.
It just got extremely fucking noir-y up in here.
It was 2001. Enron was filing for bankruptcy, an earthquake in El Salvador killed 800, and a little movie called The Fast and the Furious was quickly and ferociously speeding towards box office glory. The streets were tough and the times were tougher. I was in a transitional period as far as jobs went. I was just starting to work for Cracked, but I still had my old job as a detective-for-hire, a Private Investigator. (Dick before dick jokes.) We all did what we had to in the Early OO’s just to get by.
My detective agency was hired by the United States government after the anthrax attacks on Brokaw and Daschle to get to the bottom of this mystery. Why the government decided to put this case in the hands of a gritty, small-time, totally cliché detective agency instead of, say, the FBI or the army or scientists, is anyone’s guess. The point was, the case was ours, so we had to solve it. We never said “no” to a case, so long as the price was right. I remember heading over to the Chief’s office when the case was first handed over to us.
I approached Dolly, the Chief’s secretary.
“What’s the good word, Dolly?” She flashed me a smile sweet enough to make even the blackest coffee drinkable. Dolly had these big, blue eyes that she hid behind thick, horn-rimmed glasses. You might miss them if you weren’t looking for ‘em, but I always was. She kept her red hair tied in a tight bun on top of her head, like she was trying to hide her beauty from the world. A sweet kid, but scared; scared of the big city, scared of men, scared of living. I always kinda wondered what it would’ve been like to nail her.
“The Chief will see you in just a minute, Guinness,” she said. Oh, right. We already had a Dan at this detective agency before I showed up and, because I was Irish, I was given ‘Guinness’ as a nickname. This bit of playful racism really cut me to the core and almost made me cry every time I heard it. It was actually the main reason I was leaving detective work for Cracked. I heard they already had an ‘O’Brien’ there, so I figured I was safe from stereotype-based nicknames. After Dolly nodded to me with that sweet, sexy head of hers, I went into the Chief’s office.
How is it raining inside the office?
The Chief sat behind his desk looking exactly like one of those hastily-conceived TV Chiefs you’ve probably seen before; balding, moustache, suspenders. He was maybe even smoking a cigar sometimes. The usual.
“It’s good to see you, Guinness.” They know my family has a history of alcohol abuse.
“This looks like a pretty open-and-shut case to me.” He then opened and shut the briefcase on his desk repeatedly to demonstrate his point. This went on for a lot longer than you’d expect, and I was growing pretty uncomfortable.
“Chief, I’m not so sure it’s all that open-and-shut.”
“How do you mean? Terrorists hate America. Someone is trying to poison America. Logic points us towards terrorists. That’s open-and-shut.” He squinted at me and reached for his briefcase to again visually explain what he meant by ‘open-and-shut.’ I stopped him.
“That’s what I mean, Chief. It can’t be terrorists. It just doesn’t make any sense.”
“How do you figure, Guinness?” My suspicion that terrorists weren’t involved was entirely motivated by the fact that I didn’t want to travel to a foreign country to solve this case. I knew that wouldn’t fly with the Chief, (he loves traveling), so I needed to make something up, and fast.
“Well, Chief, the first rule of Detective-ing is to figure out who has the most to gain from any given crime. Qui bono, as the saying goes in Latin. ‘Who benefits?’”
“I know what it means, Guinness, you didn’t have to translate it.” I stared at my shoes for a little while. I forgot that the Chief was fluent in Latin. I knew he was particularly proud of the accomplishment, and I could tell that I hurt his feelings and I felt downright rotten. He probably doesn’t get a lot of chances to show off how much Latin he knows, and here I was, totally blowing it for him. I’d have to remember to make it up to him somehow after we solved this case.
“Still, Chief, we’re straying from the topic. Who would benefit the most from Anthrax attacks? Terrorists? No way, and here’s why: When we get attacked by terrorists, we don’t even think twice about it- we cut the motherfuckers. Everybody knows that. We’re like Dolemite, but with Nukes.” I wondered if the Chief was familiar with Dolemite and, specifically, his policy on dealing with motherfuckers. (He cuts them). “So, we have to figure that terrorists wouldn’t do it, because they know they’d just be signing their own death warrant. We need to ask ourselves ‘Who would benefit?’”
“By God, Guinness, you’re right! The scientists who work on Anthrax research! The more attacks we receive, the more funding they’d get for their research! It’s the scientists!” Wow, I was gonna say “Anthrax Farmers,” but the Chief’s suggestion sounded much less retarded. Still, I was going to keep “anthrax farmers” on my secret shortlist of suspects in case this scientist theory didn’t quite pan out. I wrote “Farmers” in my little detective notepad and slid it back into my pocket.
“I want you doing everything you can to track this lead down. Shake up all of your informants, get your hands dirty, and get Tacos on the case, too.” ‘Tacos’ was the nickname given to James Rodriguez, because he’s vaguely Mexican. This was a shockingly racist office. “Do whatever you need to do to solve this case.”
And we did. James and I, (I refuse to call him ‘Tacos’), were a tenacious pair of detectives. We weren’t afraid to bang down doors, even if it meant getting our hands dirty.
“This door is filthy,” I recall James saying one morning. And it was, but we banged on it anyway, getting the dirt all over our hands. Even after he washed them, James couldn’t stop smelling his hands all day, that’s how dirty the door was.
I remember meeting Bruce Ivins. There was nothing remarkable about his door. It wasn’t as dirty as the dirtiest door we ever banged on, but that isn’t saying too much. As I recall, Ivins looked particularly diabolical, like some kind of mad scientist, though, James pointed out later, that might just have been because he wore a lab coat, and, well, my imagination likes to take me places.
Bruce Ivins as I remember him.
“Let’s just ask him straight out if he’s mailing anthrax to people. I am so sick of beating around the bush,” I said as we were walking up to his studio apartment. James was quick to correct me.
“Let’s not give out too much info too soon. I’ve got a hunch about this one. If we ask him, he’s gonna think we’re on to him. We need make him think that we think that anthrax is cool. That way, he’ll admit to mailing out anthrax to people, just to impress us.” James was a much better detective than me. Ivins came to the door after we fearlessly banged on it looking either like a mad scientist or like a totally normal scientist, depending on which detective you ask.
“Can I help you, gentlemen?” I noticed an unmarked jar of flour on his kitchen table next to a list of addresses of important figures in the media. I immediately dismissed this as a list of people he wanted to send cakes to. I shook my head. He’s gonna need a lot more than just flour to make cake, I thought.
Like eggs. Most cake recipes call for eggs.
“We’d just like to ask you a few quick questions, Professor Ivins, if that’s alright with you,” James said.
“Question the first,” I barked. “Have you been mailing anthrax to people?” I had to listen closely to his response. All subsequent questions would be based on his answer to this one. If, for example, he said ‘Yes, I do that all the time,’ then I think we’d have our man.
James looked at me, dumbfounded. I couldn’t tell how, but I knew that I’d severely disappointed him. Great, I thought. First I upset the Chief by forgetting his expertise in Latin, and now I’ve got James pissed at me, too. What’s next? Am I gonna forget Dolly’s birthday or something? Good grief.
“I think what my colleague is trying to say is… Do you enjoy working with Anthrax, Professor Ivins?” Even while James was talking to him, Ivins never took his gaze off of me. At the time I thought he was trying to read my mind. Hah. My imagination. What’d I tell you? Like a train.
“I appreciate my Anthrax studies strictly as a scientific pursuit. My end goal is, of course, to come up with an antidote so to avoid any future Anthrax-related casualties.” James looked at me suspiciously and subtly indicated with his eyes that there was more to this story here. I couldn’t imagine what, though. The guy said ‘No.’ Not wanting to waste any more time, I decided to cut our interview short. If it were up to James, we’d be there for a million years.
“Listen, Professor Ivins, if you see anything suspicious, why don’t you just give us a call or write to us.” I reached for my little detective notepad and realized I only had one page left, and I’d already written “Farmers” on it. Wouldn’t want to erase that. “Here, Professor, I’ll just write down our contact info on this sheet where you keep all of your other addresses.” With that, I wrote down James’s home address as well as the address of his mother. Then, I wrote down the address of my new office at Cracked Headquarters, (I was excited about showing off my new job. Sue me.), and thanked Professor Ivins.
“Really, if you see anything at all, contact us at any of these addresses.”
James wouldn’t let me get even a word in when we were driving back to the office. He kept mumbling about how he and his mom had to move away now and how it was all my fault. He’s a good detective, but James can be so weird, sometimes, I swear.
***
So that brings us up to the present. As near as I can tell using my now-rusty detective skills, James and I had gotten too close to the truth, and Ivins didn’t like it. He wanted to send us a message. But instead, he just sent a bunch of anthrax. Had I known then what I know now, would I have done anything differently? Well, as a result of Ivins’s stupid bullshit attacks, our prints were destroyed, our magazine took a devastating face-first plunge into the shit swamp, and our office had to be moved to a new building, a building shared by some dumb fucking jerk website for fatheads. [Sidebar: Hey, Google, we're getting Baja Fresh for lunch tomorrow. That shit is catered, you stupid motherfuckers. Whatchu got?!] Also, James is dead. So, yes, I probably would have done a few things differently. (Also I probably would’ve tried a little bit harder to nail Dolly. You live and learn.)
There’s really no final punchline here. A seriously disturbed individual tried to cause a whole bunch of chaos, which is always unsettling. And now he’s gone and committed suicide, but that’s never good news. All I’ve really been able to do is offer up a little story that may have, in retrospect, been too noir-y…Noire…sque? Noir…ish?
.
Chuck Noirish.
Last 5 posts by Daniel O'Brien
- This is Why You Don't Steal from Cracked - November 21st, 2008
- On Inauguration Day White People Can Finally Be Cool - November 14th, 2008
- Will You Marry Me, Kristen Wiig? - November 7th, 2008
- "WESTSIIIIIIIIIDE!": How to REALLY Talk to Cops - October 31st, 2008
- Leaked Excerpts from 15 Year-Old Miley Cyrus's "Memoir" - October 24th, 2008
September 22nd, 2008 at 1:38 pm
I have re-read this many times Mr. O’Brien. One of my favorite articles for sure.
I eagerly await the sequel where James ‘Tacos’ Rodriguez’s son (Chinchilla) goes after the people that may or may not have caused his father’s death. Mainly because chinchilla is such a fun word to say.
Chinchilla.
Chinchilla.
Chinchilla.
August 24th, 2008 at 4:51 am
So the Bigfoot was a hoax. Dammit. I was hoping it was real.
August 21st, 2008 at 10:19 am
Jeebus, with a name like that, how can you be playing devil’s advocate? It doesn’t matter whether Ivins did it or not. This is America and we (who are American) are Americans! Rushing to judgment with a minimum of evidence is the American Way! Hell, that’s wht gets all thos vigilantes started in the first place.
Is it ironic that a band named Anthrax has a member named Belladonna?
August 20th, 2008 at 5:02 pm
Is it too late to wade into the ‘Anthrax are fucking awesome’ argument?
IT’S A MADHOOOOOOUSE, AN I’M INSAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANE!
Also, it’s not Anthrax, it’s ANTHRAX MOTHERFUCKER! *flicks metal goat sign*.
August 20th, 2008 at 2:37 pm
Stop posting under assumed identities to try and get us to read your book, Danny!
August 20th, 2008 at 1:25 pm
This was an amazing story. It really reminded me of The Bartender a bit. You really should make this story into a full length web-novel again. That would be amazing!!! You already have a few memorable characters. You should definitely elaborate on the latin-speaking chief. Come on!!!!!!!
August 20th, 2008 at 12:09 pm
Well, I know who’s going immediately to read your free book from cover to virtual cover.
It’s me.
That’s the person. Me.
August 19th, 2008 at 7:33 am
Thruststrong Manmeat, how about this for a t-shirt: I visited Ft. Detrick, and all I got was this lousy shirt… and anthrax.
You need to come up with a commemorative mascot.
August 18th, 2008 at 10:34 pm
Fuck you hyde d montage, Anthrax was an awesome band
August 18th, 2008 at 2:59 pm
@greengoddess
I’m glad I’m not the only one that notices the traces of Fry in DOB’s posts. DOB, sorry about that…
August 18th, 2008 at 2:46 pm
I’m from Frederick MD, anthrax capital of the world. I drive right past Ft Detrick, where this plot was allegedly hatched and the anthrax grown everyday to come to work. I’m trying to figure out how to turn a buck on this, any ideas besides T-shirts and stickers?
August 18th, 2008 at 12:59 pm
HAHHAHAHA This is pretty funny . . . You guys almost got Anthraxed
http://www.digitalfuntown.com/showpage.php?showid=5
August 18th, 2008 at 11:04 am
That’s in the top three funniest things I’ve ever read. Cheers to you sir! I was going to mail an envelope of powdered sugar to your office as revenge for me never getting first post on any articles, but seeing as that was funny as shit, I won’t. You got lucky, DOB, you got lucky.
August 18th, 2008 at 10:45 am
I realize this piece is premised on Ivins’ guilt, but it is by no means “absolutely certain” that Ivins was responsible for the anthrax attacks. Many, many holes have been poked in the FBI’s circumstantial case against Ivins, and I’m not talking about nutter conspiracy theorist bloggers. See e.g. the Wall Street Journal (http://tinyurl.com/5oykoc).
August 18th, 2008 at 9:55 am
Is the FARMERS?! thing a Catch-22 reference?
August 18th, 2008 at 9:48 am
TL;DR
August 18th, 2008 at 7:53 am
Maddie, I always assumed DOB was already like that.
August 18th, 2008 at 12:14 am
Fuhk YESH!!!!!
August 17th, 2008 at 10:34 pm
don’t be sad, Guinness. lots of our families have a history of alcoholism.
August 17th, 2008 at 10:30 pm
DOB, you shouldn’t joke about Dolly like that. She didn’t die from anthrax; she died from a Google recon mission that went horribly wrong, and included diet coke and mentos. I think she had a sister, though, and I can give you her number if you want an apple form the same branch. (Although I’d describe her more as a lychee.)
August 17th, 2008 at 10:18 pm
I find DOB’s blogs becoming increasingly disturbing. I predict it will be but a matter of months before Dan starts sporting a tinfoil hat, hoarding stores of canned foods and letting those abs wither away in the midst of his endless battle against the sky fairies.
August 17th, 2008 at 10:06 pm
“I wondered if the Chief was familiar with Dolemite and, specifically, his policy on dealing with motherfuckers. (He cuts them).”
Brilliant.
August 17th, 2008 at 8:07 pm
This is the most fun I’ve had on your blog so far DOB. Although after your last blog’s comments, now when I read your stuff I hear the voice of Fry from Futurama in my head.
August 17th, 2008 at 6:00 pm
Good stuff, sir.
And admit it DOB, you feel sincerely blessed to be my fbook friend.
August 17th, 2008 at 2:23 pm
We have very similar doodling techniques. The cube and connect-the-lines ‘S’ are two of my favorites, mainly because I have the terrible combination of no attention span and lack of artistic ability.
August 17th, 2008 at 2:10 pm
Gladstone is also responsible for that stupid “Five Dollar Footlongs” song, “St. Anger,” the fall of Rome, and two types of indigestion. And I suspect that he’s also D.O’B.’s father, twice removed.
August 17th, 2008 at 2:06 pm
I think D.O’B. doesn’t have a Facebook group because Google and Facebook are working together to cover up his hard-hitting, edgy reporting. But even scarier, I think Gladstone himself is working with both of those titans, as some sort of evil mastermind.
August 17th, 2008 at 10:43 am
That article was really boring and drawn out.
August 17th, 2008 at 10:31 am
The Film Noir spoofiness was perfection. Me loves it. ^^
August 17th, 2008 at 8:59 am
dude that was, once again, freakin’ hilarious!
“With that, I wrote down James’s home address as well as the address of his mother.”
- reading that was the first time i’ve ever literally laughed out loud while reading an online article… props to you, sir!
August 17th, 2008 at 8:26 am
Give the guy a break dude, he’s dead. Let him rest in peace for crying out loud.
RD
http://www.anondo.alturl.com
August 17th, 2008 at 7:32 am
I only discovered cracked in the last month, never knew about it, but i know that i would buy the shit out of your magazine if you relaunched it, yet again.
or rather, i would… subscribe to the shit out of it?
subscribe the shit to out of it?
I’d fuckin’ buy it!
August 16th, 2008 at 5:07 pm
DOB = Manny Calvera?
August 16th, 2008 at 5:04 pm
Maybe DOB just bashes on Gladstone and his facebook friends because he just desperately wants a lot of facebook friends too. It’s ok Guinness, I’ll be your friend.
August 16th, 2008 at 12:24 pm
The dude from “Cabin Boy?” I wouldn’t take that shit, DOB.
August 16th, 2008 at 11:39 am
Your writing reminds me of Chris Elliot’s The Shroud of the Thwacker.
August 16th, 2008 at 7:41 am
You look good in a suit, even if it is photoshoped.
August 15th, 2008 at 9:05 pm
Agreed, MBS; “Among the Living” threw down.
DOB, hope you’re not still mad at me about the whole Jersey girl thing. In the spirit of friendship and camaraderie, I’ll hereby clear the field and leave them all to you. Of course, I probably only could have scored leftovers anyway as my abs aren’t what they used to be.
August 15th, 2008 at 8:17 pm
“It’s good to see you, Guinness.” They know my family has a history of alcohol abuse.
I busted up laughing at that one.
August 15th, 2008 at 6:52 pm
1) The fact that the Google offices weren’t targeted suggests an alliance.
2) Ivins’ suicide note makes several references to no longer “feeling lucky” and is written on Earth Day themed stationary.
3) Bruce Edwards Ivins is merely an anagram for “rabid curved swines”, a phrase which can be TYPED INTO GOOGLE’S SEARCH BOX.
We are through the looking glass here, DOB.
August 15th, 2008 at 5:41 pm
Just the one, smashpro, a moment of weakness. If it makes you feel any better, she probably died from anthrax poisoning.
August 15th, 2008 at 5:38 pm
Wait a second, DOB. Did you actually admit that there was a woman that you HAVEN’T fucked?
August 15th, 2008 at 5:20 pm
I am fairly convinced that big foot is very possibly real. I really hope that this turns out not to be a hoax. Mostly for the same reason as glendoor.
And did Hyde d Montage actually get second? And to hell with you hyde d, early anthrax was awesome.
August 15th, 2008 at 4:37 pm
Don’t forget the sitcom “Dinosaurs” and the song “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” by Deep Blue Something
That shit is 90’s as hell!
August 15th, 2008 at 3:54 pm
Glendoor, I’m with you man. To bad the press conference sucked ass. I want my proof!! Then maybe all the weird shit I have seen over the years could possibly be prove true.
August 15th, 2008 at 3:53 pm
I seriously hope this Bigfoot thing is the root of another HBN.
August 15th, 2008 at 3:52 pm
Totally. Good gracious, you’re old. The 90’s were about three things: Those Singing Fish you mount on your wall, Hanging With Mr. Cooper, and street vigilantism. Get it together.
@Glendoor
I can’t stop thinking about this Bigfoot shit either, it’s making it impossible to get anything done.
I’m gonna be so bummed if it’s a hoax.
August 15th, 2008 at 3:49 pm
nice post. btw, The Gladstoners facebook group has over 100 sexy members now.
Not too mention all the truly wonderful people who i’m now blessed to call my fb friend.
A bond you wouldn’t understand.
forgive the old man, but our mace and machete days were in the 90’s then?
August 15th, 2008 at 3:26 pm
I just saw that on MSN, that thing about Bigfoot. I’m with Glendoor, it’s probably a hoax, but how weird would it be if it was for real? How weird would it be to have to adjust to the fact that Bigfoot actually exists?
Or at least existed… ’cause that fucker’s dead!
August 15th, 2008 at 3:21 pm
Or Miley Cyrus on her way to a Hannah Montana shoot… BURN!!!
August 15th, 2008 at 3:18 pm
I’m pretty sure this bigfoot thing is going to turnout to be DOB’s abs in disguise, mark my word.
August 15th, 2008 at 3:10 pm
Sorry Dan, this whole Bigfoot has been found press conference thing has me on edge.
You see, I saw something that could have been a Bigfoot thirty years ago. The study of Bigfoot has been one of my hobbies ever since. I haven’t really told anybody about for a long time because of the ridicule I get.
I so want this to be real, not because it will be a mystery solved for the world, not because it will be a great thing boon for the scientific community, no , I want to tell those people who have made fun of me throughout the years, my family mostly,
“IN YOUR FACE MOTHERFUCKERS!!!!!!!!!I TOLD YOU I SAW ONE!!!!!!!!! WHO’S LAUGHING AT WHO NOW!!!!!HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HAW!!!!!!!” Pretty selfish I know, but fuck it.
Though it will probably be a hoax and I won’t get to do my Bigfoot is real and in your face dance for them at Sunday dinner.
August 15th, 2008 at 3:08 pm
DOB you could have gotten me fired. I almost died laughing reading your comics on Daniel: The rejected Peanuts! Character.
Franklin sux.
August 15th, 2008 at 3:05 pm
This story was more noir-y than M or Chinatown, or even Touch of Evil…Holy shit…
August 15th, 2008 at 2:42 pm
Why does everybody negatively sterotype us Irish because of alcoholism? Why not one of our better habits? Like spousal abuse?
August 15th, 2008 at 2:23 pm
Sure. Blame anthrax for the Cracked relaunch sucking - I mean failing. Next you’ll blame the black plague for Lex Friedman’s demise. And chlamydia for Gladstone’s computer problems.
August 15th, 2008 at 2:14 pm
Of course I meant your free book. I was trying to be more subtle though. Maybe cause people to go through a wild goose chase around the internet trying to find it. Or they could type it in a search engine (but not Google).
And on a sidenote, I clicked on the link for some reason…it pulled me in…and you updated a month ago. I didn’t know this. I screamed a little.
August 15th, 2008 at 2:09 pm
Thanks, Kat. Did you mean my free book?
Also, stop being nasty, Glendoor, we’re pals.
August 15th, 2008 at 2:08 pm
Amazing story, DOB. You have a knack for noir (nack for noir?…knack for knoir?)
Kinda reminds me of this one great story I read called The Bartender on blogspot….
August 15th, 2008 at 2:03 pm
Great article once again. Could’ve used more boobs though.
August 15th, 2008 at 1:40 pm
“Gladstone and having a bunch of facebook friends is life-affirming” tactics because, frankly, I’m not that kind of guy.
Gladstone loves Eve 6.” HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
I love Gladstone and I’ll always have his back , but he is sure easy to laugh at.
A friend of mine used to ask me why I picked on him all the time and I finally told him he was pickable ie easy to pick on and that’s Gladstone in a nut shell. But he takes it like a man. Unlike you,Dan, who take the hurt puppydog defence.
“Don’t be mean to me, Sergeant. We’re friends.”
I
August 15th, 2008 at 1:35 pm
It did indeed, Sgt. I mean, we’ve still got a closet here full of old Cracked magazines, (I was looking over the very first issue from 1958 just the other day, in fact), but we just don’t have the original prints anywhere. If we wanted to reproduce any of the old content, we’d have to take photocopies of the now-time-worn back issues.
August 15th, 2008 at 1:33 pm
Funny, Dan funny.
Did the anthrax scare really cause the destruction of all the old Cracked prints? Maybe that would explain why I haven’t been able to find any pictures of the voluptuous Nanny Dickering.
August 15th, 2008 at 1:32 pm
Thanks, mrw. And I’m not sweating the fact that Gladstone has a facebook group, (the anti-hannah-montana f-book group inspired by my blogging did arrive on the scene first, after all). Plus, I’m not going to sink to Gladstone’s “Please be my facebook friend please because my name is Gladstone and having a bunch of facebook friends is life-affirming” tactics because, frankly, I’m not that kind of guy.
Gladstone loves Eve 6.
August 15th, 2008 at 1:17 pm
Chuck Noirish has the word “irish” in it
Coincidence?…probably
August 15th, 2008 at 12:51 pm
Another great post Mr. DOB. Keep it up! Btw, Gladstone has a Facebook group and you don’t, something is up sir.
August 15th, 2008 at 12:27 pm
I thought Anthrax was a crappy metal band from the 80’s, are you telling me that sick son of a bitch Ivins was mailing copies of their album out to people, they’d listen to it and become deathly ill? WOW!! I for one am glad nothing happend to anyone there at Cracked, I love you guys and would never want you to listen to Anthrax’s music, that’s just cruel. I’ve also been debating a few topics; real boobs vs fake, denver girls vs los angels and the worlds worst stripclubs (i’m a classy guy) on my blog http://www.onblastatlast.com, feel free to lose a few brain cells on my site.
Hyde D Montage
August 15th, 2008 at 12:25 pm
First?